


Riders

by illusion_flight



Category: the GazettE
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-04
Updated: 2012-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-28 22:07:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illusion_flight/pseuds/illusion_flight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Uruha has been watching the man on a motorbike without knowing his identity. But when all of a sudden all is revealed, he changes his attitude towards the person immensely. But if it is for good or bad, he himself doesn´t really know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Riders

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: PG- 13
> 
> Originally written on November 17th, 2009.

“You are getting fat, man.“

A blond man with a strange strip tied around his nose teases his friend. The man addressed only glares his bandmate´s way and without saying a single word he puts his guitar away and sits behind a table. As he is about to dig into his lunch bento, Reita walks to him, pokes him playfully into his thigh and adds.

“In no time you won´t fit into those shorts of yours, Uruha.”

Everyone in the room breaks into laughter, only the blonde almost chokes on a piece of carrot as he tries to suppress the spicy words on his tongue.

 

In the evening when the guitarist arrives home, he observes himself pensively in a huge mirror in a hall of his apartment. He knows his best friend was only joking earlier that day, still he takes his words to his heart. He has no real time for regular exercising, but suddenly he feels a flood of responsibility in his veins. Uruha walks into the kitchen, takes a bottle of vodka out of the fridge, pours himself a shot and thinks. He is the one assigned to represent the band´s sexuality; from all the members he hasn´t been chosen to wear the garters haphazardly. Or he supposes so.

The next day Uruha dusts his long forgotten bicycle off and hits the roads. From that day on he cycles to their studio every day. He cycles there and then back home. However, he would never tell his bandmates. It´s embarrassing. The bicycle itself and the fact he has given in. His vanity and pride doesn´t allow him to admit such defeat, doesn´t allow him to admit his weakness of caring about being the hottie of the band. Besides, he doesn´t like to lose. To anyone, especially not to Reita. They have been friends forever, they have shared many good memories together. But Uruha and his best friend have also been silently competing in everything they´ve ever done; they have been fighting for way too long for the blond man to give their little habit up now. Uruha won´t accept any failure, it´s enough the bassist is one month ahead.

Thus Uruha continues cycling vigorously and he stops only when the first snow falls. But as the trees start wearing green of the following year, he takes his new obsession from a basement of his apartment building out again. That spring the guitarist sees him for the first time.

On his usual route to the studio, Uruha spots him stopping at the red light on a crossroad. A car stands between them, so the only thing the blond man manages to take in before green light jumps back in is the person´s black helmet. The weak sun rays reflect on the highly polished accessory. Uruha can´t help thinking he would like to properly see a motorbike the other man surely sits on. But in a blink of an eye the man on the motorcycle is gone and Uruha almost falls off his bike when an abrupt honking resounds behind his back to get him moving from his brooding and blocking the way. In the end the man arrives to the band´s rehearsal and by the time they play a last song, he has forgotten about the morning incident completely. Their upcoming album recording takes over his mind completely.

However, when the next month, the red light motorbike scene repeats a few times, Uruha imprints the image of that cool guy on the crossroad into his memory. This time he can see the heavy machine the man rides. Strong impression washes over Uruha, he has never really been interested in cars and similar stuff, but he can only admire the motorbike in its cold, black beauty. He is amazed how elegantly the rider and the motorbike fit together. The image is almost too striking, that´s what the blonde thinks as the man speeds off.

Uruha encounters the other a few more times and he unconsciously starts looking forward to every following day he might see him. If his morning bike rides weren´t joyful before, Uruha definitely enjoys them now. He is infatuated by the rider´s mysterious appearance and the fact that the other has never actually noticed him. Uruha thinks he is changing into some kind of a voyeur, he can´t tear his eyes from the other, but in the end he dismisses the though very quickly. He doesn´t stalk the man and never gets to see him for more than one or two minutes anyway. However, the guitarist feels his stomach tighten every time he catches only the quickest sight of the rider´s muscular legs gripping the sides of his motorbike firmly. Smile graces Uruha´s lips every time his morning is refined with his secret pleasure. A black leather jacket and the jeans of the same colour make the rider and his machine the one entity.

The blond guitarist keeps getting distracted by this picture even when it is not really in front of his eyes physically. Ruki starts throwing annoyed comments at him about his incapability to play at least one song without a mistake and Kai too, enforcing his leader´s rights, takes him aside to have a few pull-yourself-together words with the older. And Uruha himself knows that behind his back Aoi and Reita always rise their eyebrows every time he messes up. And jokes during lunch breaks about him being out of it never come to their end. Uruha gulps those of Reita down bravely, but forgets his meals completely. Still his heart pounds wildly when he remembers his morning coincidental collisions. They seem not to come to their end either and Uruha hopes it won´t change any time soon.

On the day Uruha´s heart almost jumps out of his chest, sun becomes finally warmer and it is the initiating day of the recording. But the lead guitar doesn´t get to see the man on the crossroad. Instead he sees the motorbike itself in the garage of their company building as he parks his own bicycle next to it, to the only vacant spot next to the railings. Uruha is sure he is not mistaken, he memorized the evidence number long time ago and besides he would recognize the thing even with his eyes closed.

The blond man walks down the corridors with his head bowed, like in a dream, but upon entering a recording studio, his eyes immediately fall on the first strange and unfamiliar thing in the room. He has to blink several times to persuade himself that his brain really doesn´t play tricks on him. The helmet, he has seen so many times, sits peacefully on a recording panel, waiting to be taken away. When Uruha absorbs the fact he realizes that the only other person present in the studio is Reita. He feels faint.

As the bassist explains, he has only forgotten to tell the others that he bought a motorbike.

“It´s nothing important. And don´t make that face, man. You know very well I have been planning on doing it for ages.”

Reita grins and punches Uruha´s shoulder with a fist. The only reaction the guitarist is able to show as he massages his aching arm is a grimace filled with pain and wordless astonishment. Reita shakes his head in amusement, although he is filled with suspicions about why the heck his best friend is so weird lately.

When the rest of the band comes to the studio and they start recording, it is only a miracle Uruha manages to play everything right. His head is full of confusion, questions and thoughts about Reita. He is just not able to look at the man with the same eyes anymore. He doesn´t notice Reita´s now and then glances towards him, bending over his instrument. The bassist starts to worry; the man´s face is pale and his neck glistens with droplets of sweat.

“Uruha, seriously you look like shit. You eating anything at all? Just too skinny. Huh?”

But as soon as he asks, Uruha flashes his best smile accompanied with a nervous laughter and shows thumbs up to Reita. However, it´s only the guitarist´s deepest will that enables him to pretend like this for his heart runs a race with a herd of wild horses. It seems to be winning so far.

 

After they finish recording for the day, while walking in the direction of a lift to the underground garages with Reita, Ruki and co., Uruha realizes that his bicycle secret is going to be revealed mercilessly. In the morning he has left his bike next to Reita´s new toy. The blonde curses inwardly, it can´t get any better, he is sure the other will blabber about it to their bandmates the next day. His cheeks suddenly turn the colour of their vocalist favourite trousers and his new gained shyness and speechlessness towards the bassist is replaced by the good, old feeling of rivalry. The guitarist can´t think of any immediate excuse why not to go home with the rest of the band, why to return to the studio. So he drags slowly behind the guys in silence and after final goodbye, when only Reita and he are left, his feet become even heavier.

Reita doesn´t realize Uruha walks in the same course as he does until he reaches his motorbike.

“Ah, Uru!”

The bassist voices his surprise and continues.

“I thought you were gone with the rest. Have your car around here?”

The older doesn´t wait for the answer and sits on the machine. And the moment he is about to start a motor, Uruha is idea stricken. He will win their never-ending little game this time as well. No one will ever find out. His lips curve in a triumphant smile and it takes him only two long strides to pass his poor and neglected bike and to approach Reita. In the meantime the other blond man manages to put his helmet on, causing Uruha´s new resolution to waver again. All of a sudden there is the cool, mysterious rider himself in front of his eyes. The guitarist gets a hold of himself only when he finally notices Reita´s troubled voice asking for explanation. It´s late to back off now, Uruha tells himself inwardly.

“I came by train.”

“Ah, really? And?”

“So I thought that you might give me a ride home. I was curious about your bike anyway.”

Uruha tries to sound confident as he requests this favour, but he can hear his voice shaking. On any other occasion, Reita would probably tell him to fuck off, but the man has been unsure about Uruha´s health conditions whole day and so he only nods, turns around, unfastens a spare helmet from the back of the bike and hands it to his bandmate.

“I have no choice, do I?”

Reita pouts to hide his concern and waits for the other to get on the motorbike.

“Hold on tightly.”

“Hold on what?”

Uruha asks, but he knows what the answer is very well.

When the bike rushes out into the late spring night, Uruha is only a few inches away from Reita in his black, leather jacket. He feels sorry he can´t feel the breeze that would cool his head down in his face. However, unexpectedly a new thought about violating the protected territory by his presence on the motorcycle occurs to the blonde guitarist. And so Uruha shuts his eyes, tightens his grip on the bassist´s waist and presses his chest against the other´s broad back. His heart races along the motorbike and speed seems to match this time.

 

Only at the feeling of a ceased movement Uruha opens his eyes and sees Reita has parked in yet another garage, the garage of his apartment house.

“Why are we here?”

The man asks plainly as he frees himself of the helmet.

“I thought you may actually fancy dinner. Uruha, you seriously look sick. Come on, if nothing else, there is some beer in my fridge and you can always stay the night.”

Upon hearing this, Uruha forgets all about his bicycle, their competing, Reita´s motorbike and unknown sensation of the butterflies in his stomach he feels in the others presence. The guitarist remembers all those days back when “who´s-better-and-who´s-worse idea” was thrown away and the two of them enjoyed their friendship without the useless duels. That was long time ago, now other duties have taken over their teenage mischief and all that is left is that weird sense of the need to outmatch the other for the sake of their own progress. And so the younger man nods and smiles.

“I think I will take you on the second.”

Nevertheless, their resumed good mood and the nostalgic feeling lasts only up to the 5th beer. Uruha sitting on the ground of a living room watches Reita struggling with his black helmet. In the drunkenness of a moment, the older blonde desires to be better again and he tries to prove it with his new acquired coolness.

“I am the coolest rider around. Hey, Uruha, just say it.”

Not knowing that Uruha secretly admits that his attempts are quite successful, Reita manages to put that damned, disguising object on his head and he jumps to his feet and demonstrates the best poses he can come up with. The guitarist freezes, everything is back, his stomach shrinks and his heart stops for a second altogether. And as Reita nears to him, he trips over a fold on a carpet and falls directly into Uruha´s lap. A dull, but still resonant and boisterous laughing of the bassist echoes from behind the hard mask. Uruha grabs the helmet and violently pulls it off the other man´s head, his laughter doesn´t stop.

The guitarist stares at the other long and hard. Reita is better. Even without the embarrassing exposure of his bicycle affair, Reita has surpassed the younger. It has all been unconscious from the bassist´s side, but the truth is bitter for Uruha. The other blond man has woken up feelings in him that makes him more uncertain about their relationship than he has ever been. But the blond guitarist still wishes to be better. This time it would be enough to attain his nerves back.

“Yeah, you are the best, Reita. Seriously I have never seen anyone like you.”

The bassist voice falls silent. Uruha doesn´t wait for anything, he grasps the other by his shirt, pulls him closer harshly and connects their mouth roughly. Both men have their eyes fully open. The sitting man presses harder and moves his lips against the other´s. To Uruha´s surprise Reita doesn´t seem to want to protest, the opposite is just right. The bassist slants a bit backwards to lean on one of his arms simultaneously drawing the other down with him. He buries his second hand in Uruha´s silk hair and parts his lips. Uruha can taste beer and a cigarette finished not so long time ago mixed together on his tongue. The taste he is sure the other can feel too.

And that is just something that makes them equal for once.


End file.
